One Last Refrain
by Tuttle
Summary: PostRent timeline: Questions, fear and rage about mortality force Mark and Roger to look at their lives. PART 3 ADDED 11.29.05
1. Chapter One

**Title:** One Last Refrain

**Feedback:** Please, please, please. I live for feedback, feedback is my friend. But don't be too harsh. Although I do like constructive criticism, please remember, fanfiction writers are people too.

**Pairing:** Mark/Roger  
**  
Rating**: PG13 (language somewhat editted for )

**Genre:** Angst, Drama

**Summary:** PostRent timeline: Questions, fear and rage about mortality force Mark and Roger to look at their lives.

**Notes:** Mark and Roger are an established couple:)

**Spoilers:** Post-Rent timeline although some details of the show might be changed.

**Warnings:** Angst, Character Death (I'm playing with a couple of ideas for this fic, so this might not be who/what you think :))

**Disclaimer:** I don't own RENT or any of the RENT characters. All invented characters however are my own. I am not making any money off of this fic and am writing purely for pleasure and my general love for the show.

* * *

_December 24th-3pm_- The Food Emporium was relatively vacant, many of the people were probably already at home or with their families somewhere in Westchester, but Mark and Roger were still there, stuck in the East Village in an apartment with no heat, no hot water and a window with a crack in it larger than the San Andreas fault. But they managed to survive.

They walked down the aisles of the supermarket, Roger leaning on the cart as if it was holding him up, and Mark walked ahead, holding the list. Roger reached up, grabbing a box of condoms off the top shelf and opened it up, taking a handful and putting them in his pocket before tossing the box back onto the shelf.

"What are you doing?" Mark came to a stop, spinning around.

"It said 25 free," Roger explained. "Doesn't say anything about buying the first 100 first. I'm just taking what I'm owed."

"Do you want to end up in jail on Christmas Eve?" Mark said.

"Do you want to have to choose between sex and dinner?"

"Touché," Mark said, checking the list. "OK... anything cheap that we can make without boiling water."

"You mean like peanut butter?" Roger sighed. "I am tired of peanut butter."

"It's all we can afford that we can make without a heat source."

"We'd get more food living on the street."

"Bite your tongue!" Mark said. "That little piece of shit apartment might not be much, but at least we've got it."

"You say that again when it starts to snow in the bedroom tonight." Roger sighed, helping himself to a loose grape from the bag which sat in the front of the cart. "We've gotta get out of that place."

"Yeah, you sell your guitar so we can get rent on a new place."

"Yeah, fk you," Roger laughed. "I'd find myself sleeping on a park bench before I sell the Fender again."

"If we don't do something soon, we're going to be starving," Mark pointed out. "Stop eating the grapes."

"I'm hungry," Roger said. "Just think, I'm saving us money... which we seriously need right now. Seriously."

They continued through the store, picking up a jar of peanut butter and a loaf of bread, placing it strategically in the front of the cart. Roger reached out, wrapping his fingers around a candy bar on line, unwrapping it and taking a bite.

"I'm not paying for that" Mark said.

"Relax, Coppola," Roger said through the half masticated chocolate. "I think I have the 29 cents."

"You'd better," Mark sighed. "Because I don't"

Roger rolled his eyes, pulling three dimes out of his pocket. "There" he said. "Happy? I had to lower myself to playing on the street corner for that."

"You're gonna get pneumonia standing out in the cold."

Mark paid for the groceries.

"We live in a fing icebox." Roger retorted. "I'll get pneumonia staying at home. Can we go? Back to the abyss that we call an apartment?"

"Grab a bag," Mark said as they walked out of the store. They began to walk back towards 11th Street and Avenue B. The trek was a bit lengthy, but Mark and Roger had done it so many times before that it was second nature.

Mark kept his stride ahead of Roger's. He always had, as Roger seemed to lag behind all the time. Mark never questioned it, just allowed Roger the space that every artist needs to play through notes and chords and lyrics in his mind. The snow had already blanketed the ground from the night before and small white flurries where just now, again starting to fall from the sky. Mark stopped. "You were right" he said "We're gonna need to figure out a way to plug up the hole in the ceiling again tonight...." Mark turned around to face him. "Roger?" Roger wasn't anywhere in sight. Mark shook his head. He couldn't have left him that far back. Mark sighed, beginning to retrace his steps, hoping that he would be able to get somewhat back into stride with Roger.

Mark had only walked a short while when he got a feeling deep down in his gut. An eery sickening feeling that he had felt the night that Angel had died. He looked a little further up the street, seeing a figure, folded over, motionless on the ground. Mark's heart stopped beating, unable to move for a second before running over, just knowing. He fell to his knees, turning over the frozen, limp body, brushing the snow from his hair. "Roger?" he said . "God... Roger. Help!" Mark called at the top of his lungs. "Somebody!" There had to be somebody in that city that wouldn't walk over them, somebody who would pick up a phone and call for a doctor. "Anybody! Help!"

TBC


	2. Chapter Two

Roger eased his eyes open, blinking, letting himself adjust to the seemingly bright lights above him. The room slowly came into focus and Roger could hear the beeping of machines and see the drab white walls.

"Roger?" Mark sat forward in his seat. "Christ, you scared the shit out of me."

Roger took a deep breath, clearing his throats. "What happened?"

"Why don't you tell me?" Mark said. "When did you stop taking it?"

"What?"

"Don't bullshit me, Roger." Mark said. "Your AZT. When did you stop taking it?"

"When I ran out," Roger said simply. "We're pretty much f-ing freezing."

"And without that drug, you're dying!" Mark said. "You need it."

"We can't afford it," Roger said. "You're gonna put a price on your life? Shit Roger. We can't be that proud. We can ask for help. With this, we can ask for help. We need to."

"My mother doesn't even know that I'm gay. She doesn't know I've got AIDS. You think I could tell her that, Mark?"

"What about my parents?"

"You ready to tell mommy and daddy that not only did you date a lesbian, but you ended up being a homo?"

Mark sighed. "Not when you put it that way." he said "OK, listen we have to figure out something because this is important."

"How about we start by getting the hell out of here." Roger said. "Because if there's one more thing we don't need to worry about paying for, it's a hospital stay."

"Look, what about Collins? Did the ATM over at the Food Emporium ever get fixed?"

"That's an awful lot of money to take out as an honorarium."

"I think that we need to make an exception. You need the medication."

Roger managed to push himself up in bed. "Can we start by getting me the hell out of here? I don't want to stay here."

"Roger..."

"Don't... argue with me, Mark! Get me out of this f-ing place. Either you can help me or I'll do it myself, but I'm getting out of this hospital."

"Fine," Mark kept Roger from pulling out the IVs. "Fine, let me... let me help you before you hurt yourself."

"We can get out once the nurse takes a break." Roger said.

"You sound like you've done this before."

"Yeah, like you haven't." Roger grabbed his clothes, beginning to dress. "We're not cheap, we're just poor."

"Not poor..."

"We're starving artists. Whatever the hell you want to call us. It doesn't change the fact that we're broke."

Mark walked over to the door, looking left and right. "Well now's your chance if we're gonna get out of here."

Roger slowly and stealthily moved after him and they nonchalantly made their way out of the hospital. The snow was falling harder now and the street was blanketed.

Why did that seem to be too easy?" Mark said.

"We're out, don't jinx it." Roger began to walk, arms wrapped around himself for warmth, keeping his stride even with Mark's this time.

"We're gonna get back to the apartment, we're gonna shovel out the bedroom and then I'm going to head back to the Food Emporium to get some cash so you can get your AZT."

"Oh and just leave me alone in the arctic," Roger said. "Thanks a lot."

"I won't be long," Mark said. "Money, drugs, home."

"Just... let's get home now, work from there, OK? I'm freezing."

"Here," Mark handed Roger his scarf. "Take this before you freeze to death."

Roger took the scarf, wrapping it around his neck. "What about you?"

"You need it more than I do right now. You don't look too hot. Your immune system isn't that good right now..."

"My immune system's shot to shit," Roger interrupted. "Nothing's gonna change that. Not now, not ever."

"It's that kind of attitude that gets you into trouble," Mark said. "Your outlook sucks."

"Why shouldn't it?" Roger said as they reached the apartment, walking up the dilapidated staircase to the top floor. "You can't tell me you honestly haven't thought about it. About me dying."

"I try not to," Mark said. "And you shouldn't think about it either."

"Why not?" Roger said. "Not thinking about it isn't going to make it go away. I've still got this thing and like it or not, Mark, it's gonna kill me. It killed Angel and Mimi. It killed April..."

"April killed herself." Mark said.

"Because of it," Roger said. "She slit her wrists because she had it. Because she thought she gave it to me." Roger cleared away some f the snow from the top of the bed and worked to stuff the hole in the ceiling. "We were both into the needle. I could have given it to her."

"Will you stop talking like that," Mark said "It doesn't matter who gave it to who. What matters is that we do something about it. And once I pick up your AZT, we can go on taking care of it. So quit with the doomsday scenarios." Roger sat down on the edge of the bed, picking up his guitar and playing a few chords. "Roger?"

"Right," he said "Doomsday, whatever."

Mark sighed, trying to search for another scarf, but coming up empty handed. "Keep that on so you don't freeze. I'll be back as soon as I can. Try to get some sleep Roger."

"Sure thing," Roger said, not really paying attention to him.

Mark paused a moment and then headed back out again into the storm. Roger took a deep breath before fiddling with a tune on the guitar. A broken, unfinished melody.


	3. Chapter Three

A wall of white was up outside. Roger lay back on the bed, staring at the broken skylight and the snow that fell through it. "This is bullshit," he sighed, swinging his feet off the bed and walking slowly to the large window which overlooked their city block. He wrapped Mark's scarf tighter around his neck and stepped out onto the fire escape.

The frigid wind smack Roger in the face immediately, sending a chill straight through him. He looked down. Nobody had moved into the apartment downstairs after Mimi died. Roger preferred it that way. It was quiet all the time, as quiet as it could be on the block.

Roger sighed. It had to be below zero when the wind blew, but he wanted to be out there, needed to be out there. He looked down to Mimi's apartment, memories flooding him

_"Hey...stranger!" Mimi teased, calling up to Roger. "The power's out again!"_

_Roger hung his head over the edge fire escape. "Thank Benny!" he called down. He smiled. It had been thirteen months since their first meeting in the apartment. She had come up to look for a light and it led to romance. Mimi loved Roger and with the exception of the few months they spent apart around the time Angel died, they had been together ever since._

_It was cold. The coldest day yet in January. The small space heaters were running day and night with no relief in sight. Now, with the power out again, they would all be freezing._

_"Come on down," Mimi called. "It's slippery, be careful."_

_Roger laughed. "I'll use the stairs." He stepped off the fire escape and back into the apartment. Mark had gone out with Collins to the Life Café. Roger knew that his roommate would tell him not to shut himself in, so he grabbed an extra scarf and slipped out of the apartment to head down to Mimi's._

Roger brushed the snow off his shoulders and out of his hair. His cheeks were beet red and ice cold. He stepped back into the apartment. The bed was covered with a soft blanket of snow. He sighed, coughed, as he settled himself on the ragged sofa, lying down with his knees pulled into his chest. He shivered as he closed his eyes and attempted to sleep.

The wind nipped at him as Mark finally made his way to the ATM. "Thank God" he said , removing one glove so that he could punch in the code. A-N-G-E-L. Nothing. "No, no" Mark said, trying to put in the code again. Still nothing. "Shit." Roger needed his medication and if it was the last thing he did, Mark was going to get t he money.

He checked his pockets. Five dollars. He could at least pay to get into the cab and drive about halfway to the complex. Mark stepped out into the street, trying to hail a cab. Like always, many passed by before Mark stepped further into the road. He jumped into the yellow taxi.

"Corner of 11th and Avenue B." Mark said. He paused. "Actually... just go until we hit five dollars."

The cab began to move, surprising Mark by going all the way there. He handed over the money. "Keep it buddy. Merry Christmas."

Mark smiled. "Thank you. Thanks. Merry Christmas." He got out, ran to the building and sprinted up to the apartment. Mark slid the door open and tried the lights. "Power's out," he said softly. "Great." He walked further inside, seeing Roger on the sofa. "Roger?" he whispered.

Roger simply lay there as Mark stepped closer. Beads of sweat dripped from his brow and off the ends of his hair. He shook both with fever and from the cold. Mark gently sat on the sofa, cradling Roger's head in his lap.

"Christ..." Mark said softly. "You're on fire."

"Did you get it?" Roger said through chattering teeth.

"No..." Mark admitted softly. "We need to... get you back to the hospital."

"No," Roger said firmly. "No, Mark. It's Christmas... Eve. No."

"You're sick..."

"I'm not going back there." Roger said. "Promise me you won't take me back to that fucking place."

"Roger..."

"Mark. I'm fine... I'm fine. Just promise."

Mark sighed. "I promise." He brushed Roger's hair gently back off his forehead. "I promise just... try to sleep. It'll be better in the morning. You'll see."

Mark felt Roger's head get heavy in his lap one he fell asleep. He listened to Roger breath and felt the gentle rise and fall of his chest. Even if Mark was tired now, he couldn't go to sleep. He sat up, still stroking Roger's hair. He would watch him all night, trying to convince himself that in the morning everything would be better and Roger would have recovered. He desperately wanted to believe it, but he couldn't. He knew it wasn't true. He knew this was just the beginning.


End file.
